


Illumination

by shimotsuki



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimotsuki/pseuds/shimotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cazaril would like to put the lights out.  Betriz would rather not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illumination

Cazaril finished a kiss and pulled away, just a little. Betriz looked up at him, flushed and beaming and slightly out of breath.

She had been Betriz dy Cazaril for six hours or so, he calculated. But after the wedding came feasting, and speeches, and eventually dancing. So the sum total of their time alone as husband and wife so far was all of maybe fifteen minutes.

Still, they had made a striking amount of progress in that quarter of an hour.

They were sitting very close together on the edge of the bed—_their_ bed. Richly embroidered tunic and trousers and gown lay draped over a chest in the corner. Now Betriz was wearing nothing but a simple linen shift, dyed some lovely pale color that was impossible to identify by candlelight, and worked along the modest neckline with violets and snowdrops and other symbols of the Daughter. This shift was much finer than the plain white ones she had worn for swimming lessons a year ago, but it had much the same effect on him.

And that was about the only thing that could have stopped him kissing her. He wanted to look his fill while he still had the chance.

When Cazaril returned his hungry gaze to Betriz's face, he saw that her smile had widened. At least she didn't mind him looking. Now, in fact, she was doing some looking of her own. There probably wasn't much that his own linen shirt and trews left to the imagination.

Not much—but something, withal.

And so, when her deft hands found the laces of his shirt and began to untie them, he felt his smile turn slightly wry against her lips. "Let's blow out the candles," he murmured.

"No," said Betriz placidly, "let's not."

He swallowed. _That_ wasn't in the scene he had painted in his head for this night.

She was eyeing him rather shrewdly, but then her dimple flashed. "I can't believe you're tired of looking at me already!"

"No—of course not—"

Her hand settled on his thigh. He drew a sharp breath.

"Well, I'm not, either. Tired of looking at _you,_ that is." She leaned in and found his lips with hers, and her fingers continued their nimble dance down his chest until his shirt hung open.

Her warm hands slipped under the smooth cloth to rest on his shoulders.

He stiffened. He couldn't help himself.

Betriz went very still, but she didn't take her hands away. "Caz. I love you—_all_ of you." She leaned up and brushed her lips along one eyebrow. "There's no shame in anything you've done." Her voice grew stronger. "You know that better than I do."

Cazaril opened his mouth to speak, but his mind failed to supply him with any useful words.

"Besides—" the dimple returned—"you can't possibly imagine I won't want to be doing this again in the morning!"

The impish glint in her eye provoked an answering grin from him before he knew it. How was it that his imagination had never carried him past this one night?

He kissed her again, softly.

And then, quite deliberately, he shrugged his shoulders, letting the shirt slide down his back to pool on the bed behind him.

. * _fin_ * .


End file.
